


found a place to rest my head (never let me go, never let me go)

by caravaggiosbrushes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Anal Fingering, Canon Compliant, Eventual Fluff, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Gay, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Inspired by Twitter, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Kissing, Shameless Smut, Slash, Smut, Spit As Lube, Twitter: terror_exe Flash Fest, lots of body fluids involved, messy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caravaggiosbrushes/pseuds/caravaggiosbrushes
Summary: They undress in silence, barely looking at each other, too tired to feel anything but dread for the day ahead. That is, at least, until James (half-undressed-James, only his shirt still on) takes Francis' face in his hands to kiss him with a maddening sweetness that threatens to make Francis' heart burst. His tiredness suddenly morphs into burning need, surprising Francis and probably James too, judging from the way he tightens his hands on Francis' shirt collar."I thought you were tired." James whispers on his lips. He can feel the smile there."It's our last night." Francis hears himself say, in between kisses. "We should make it count."
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	found a place to rest my head (never let me go, never let me go)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my second (whattt) entry for the [ #terrorexefest ](https://areyougonnabe.tumblr.com/post/627075837789962240/announcing-the-terrorexe-flash-fest-coming-next) challenge, written in one go (so it’s probably either very good or very bad. You decide.) for [ this prompt ](https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1299590592616452096?s=20) (“ _Maybe the real Northwest Passage was kissing.”_ ) which… got out of hand and I probably ended up very far away from it, but it’s fitzier smut so I figured I’d posted this anyway. It’s also my first ever smut in the terror fandom so uhm, hopefully I haven’t got too many Victorian terms wrong, but feel free to point out any mistake if you find them!
> 
> Set after Carnival.
> 
> Enjoy <3 

_midnight, we're fading_

_'til daylight, we're jaded_

_we know that it's over in the morning_

  
  
  


In the heart of HMS _Terror_ , Captain Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier is doing the last checkups for what awaits him and his men in the morning.

Leaving his ship is not something a captain should ever be forced to do, but here they are, with no other remaining hope than to walk miles and miles in this dead, greyish-white land.

Francis is supervising their last preparations once again, with Thomas Jopson on the side, looking tired -as all of them,- but nevertheless ready to answer his every question.

On Crozier's other side stands Commander James Fitzjames from HMS _Erebus_ , his hands clasped behind his back, straight on his feet despite the obvious weariness that doesn’t spare him either. They are going through the inventory once again, revising their plan and their future moves.

"Francis." James calls at some point, looking straight at him. "We should stop to get some rest."

There are dark shadows under his eyes and his usually perfectly styled hair is now falling in floppy waves.

"I have to finish this, James-"

"No, you have to _sleep_." He interrupts, "And I need it too, as well as Jopson and everyone else." James places a hand on Francis' arm, "We need to stop now, Francis. For tomorrow."

He knows James is right, but his mind refuses to accept it: if he stops moving, it means he's useless and no one needs a useless captain.

Then again, Francis can feel the tiredness weighing on him like a suffocating shadow, and he knows James is only being sensible.

"We went through everything, we're not forgetting anything. Right?"

"Yes, we have checked and re-checked everything. Two times." James says, "Please, Francis, go get some rest."

He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his eyes. "Alright."

There is no need to ask James to stay on _Terror_ for the night: he knows he is invited, knows Francis wants him. Needs him, even.

Francis is the first one to make his way to his cabin alone, discharging Jopson immediately, telling him to please go to bed, no, do not stay awake for me, Jopson, go get some rest. 

After a few minutes of quiet, he hears his cabin's door sliding open and then close again, with a soft thud.

They undress in silence, barely looking at each other, too tired to feel anything but dread for the day ahead. That is, at least, until James (half-undressed-James, only his shirt still on) takes Francis' face in his hands and kisses him with a maddening sweetness that threatens to make Francis' heart burst. His tiredness suddenly morphs into burning need, surprising Francis and probably James too, judging by the way he tightens his hands on Francis' shirt collar.

"I thought you were tired." James whispers on his lips. He can feel the smile there.

"It's our last night." Francis hears himself say, in between kisses. "We should make it count."

It's dark in the cabin, but Francis can clearly make out James' eyes shining, big and full of hunger now.

He doesn't even answer, not with words: he works Francis' shirt open, one button after the other, covering every piece of newly-revealed skin with his lips, making Francis clutch at his shoulders when James sucks a mark low on his neck.

"This is what I'm going to miss the most." James' voice is a low rumble on Francis' skin. He gives a lick to one of Francis' nipples, while pushing his pants down, rubbing a hand over his prick, hardening slowly (a reminder of his now past addiction). Francis has to bite down at his bottom lip to keep quiet.

"What, putting your mouth on this old man?" He means for it to sound sarcastic, but doesn't quite manage it.

"Yes." James straightens up and kisses Francis gently. The tip of his strong nose is buried in Francis' cheek, his hands keeping Francis close. "But mostly, having time for this," he murmurs against Francis' lips, "Us."

His heart swells painfully and the words he intended to speak get lost somewhere in the path from his mind to his lips, so he decides to show him instead: he pushes James back, towards his berth. The man gets down gently, ever so elegantly, pulling Francis with him, on top of himself. They divest one another of their remaining clothes slowly, no rush in their movements, admiring every new inch of skin revealed, mapping each other with their hands and lips. 

When they’re both fully naked, James lets his legs fall open to welcome Francis in a warm embrace, immediately wrapping them around him as soon as Francis is on him, bringing their erections together. 

Feeling James' warm body against his own is always a shocking experience, possibly because it's been years since he has last felt someone like this, or because everything one can hope to find in this place is cold, and a body like this is a novelty and a rarity. 

Or possibly, simply because this is James.

"Will you miss this?" James whispers, pushing his hips upwards, searching for Francis' prick, finding it fully hard now.

Francis circles his hips against James', in slow, steady motions, as if he were taking him: they have no time or the presence of mind to do that now, but this is good enough, _anything_ is good enough when it’s about James.

"You know I will." He grabs at one of James' legs, brings it against his chest, opening him up, exactly as he's done a few other times in these past weeks, just before pushing his prick inside of him. James always ended up crying out loud, splashing his seed across his belly almost violently. 

This time however, Francis decides to kiss his inner thigh, making James' breath catch. He closes his eyes while kissing him on his skin, so delicate here, sucking a mark. James whines low in his throat, trying to hide his face in Francis' pillow. 

His prick lays on his belly, hard and inviting, close to Francis' face, whose mouth waters at the sight of it. 

But there is no pressure tonight: Francis wants to savour this last occasion, his Last Supper. He wants to feast on James, since he has miraculously been granted the chance.

He's transfixed by this vision of James lying in his bedsheets, fully nude, pale skin bright in the moonlight, hard cock begging to be touched.

"This is what I'm going to miss." Francis looks eloquently at James' body, tracing his ribs with his hands, going down to the inviting 'V' of his groin, "Feeling you under my hands, having you underneath me."

He grazes his fingertips on James' belly, savoring the way his stomach tightens at the touch, his breath coming out more laboured. Francis caresses him on the trail of short hair that leads to his cock, but purposely avoids it, stroking gently at the delicate skin just below, making him writhe on the bed, in the attempt of pushing himself more in Francis' hands. 

He has to pin him down by the hip to keep him still. James' squeezes his eyes shut at that, his prick leaving a drop of fluid, the muscles of his thighs twitching.

"Francis-" His lips are shining and constantly parted, as if he has forgotten he can close them. He's staring at Francis with a dark gaze. "What else?"

"Everything about this version of you that no one else gets to see." He places two fingers on his lips: as in command, James' eyes fall close and his mouth falls obediently open. He welcomes Francis' fingers, sucking on them in earnest, moaning around them, arching his neck to get them even deeper. His face is blushed with pleasure. Francis has to palm his own neglected erection at this display of beauty.

"Gonna miss seeing you like this." He pushes his fingers in James' hungry mouth, on his soft tongue, and cradles his face with his other hand. James moans softly and turns towards that new touch, burying the side of his face in Francis' palm. He's got his eyes closed, expression almost pained from the pleasure he's experiencing- and it's just from Francis' fingers, dear God.

"Good boy, like that." Francis praises him, stroking his hair with the hand James is hiding against, while fucking his fingers in his lovely mouth. 

James shudders all over, fighting to keep his eyes open.

When Francis takes his fingers away, James immediately breathes in as best he can, but Francis gives him no time ("No, no, open up again, ah good, like this.") by pushing three fingers in his mouth. James bucks his hips up, looking for some relief, moaning around the intrusion.

He looks like he’s hating and loving this at the same time, his face a mask of pleasure (cheeks flaming hot, eyes liquid, lips wet and stretched around Francis’ fingers) and discomfort (furrowed brows, all the noises he's constantly making, and that single tear on his cheek). 

"You look so good like this, do you have any idea?" Francis inquires, as if James could answer, "I'd love to have someone doing a painting of you like this, desperate for me."

James' legs have a short spasm at that, and he nods and nods around Francis' fingers, holding his gaze.

"Do you think you're desperate enough?" 

James makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat (which Francis can _feel_ on his fingers) and nods insistently.

"Yes? Should I use my fingers somewhere else on you, then?"

At this, James wraps his legs around him so tightly that Francis loses his balance, ending up with his face close to James', who somehow looks all smug even with his mouth fully occupied and his unfocused eyes. He hasn’t stopped sucking and licking at Francis’ fingers.

He's so close to James like this: his hot breath on his face, the smell of sex and their sweat burning low as a fire, wrapped around them like a filthy blanket. It’s deliciously intimate.

"Is that so," Francis whispers, before licking at James' outstretched lips and his own fingers, in the process. He kisses him in a way that makes no sense, he's not even sure this could be called a kiss- but it's incredibly arousing to hear the surprised, desperate sound -half a lamentation, half a moan,- that James makes, and the way he tries to kiss Francis back, even with his mouth full: he tilts his face towards Francis, lifting his chin up, chasing his lips, but of course he cannot kiss him. Francis can, however, and so he does: he keeps licking and kissing at James’ lips, ending up kissing his nose and his chin too, and the corner of his mouth and his cheek. He’s making a mess of him, saliva and spit shining on James’ face, who looks completely dazed. Francis can feel his thighs quivering, wrapped around his middle.

When it becomes too much, he lets his fingers drop away, only to immediately replace them with his mouth, not leaving James even a moment to recover. 

They devour each other: James moans desperately in his mouth, breathing hard, wrapping his arms around Francis' neck, a hand in his hair, pulling at it sharply, until he has him moving back a little so that he can take Francis' hand and push it in between his legs, "Your fingers, Francis. Please."

"God- yes, alright." His heart is thudding in his chest. He grazes his fingers on James’ opening, not even sparing a touch to his angry-red prick, wanting him at his wildest for this: he loves how James gets when he’s half mad with desire. "You deserve them."

He's about to leave the berth to get the oil they usually use for this purpose, but James grabs at his wrist. "I'm just getting the oil-"

" _Leave it,_ I don't want it." He says, almost _offended_ , urgence clear in his voice, "Just your fingers and your spit."

Francis has to grip at his own prick to keep himself from spilling at this.

"Are you sure-"

James pulls him back on the berth and over himself, "I _am_." He spreads his legs for him, bending at the knees, feet planted on the bed, so that he's fully on display for Francis.

He moves as if in a dream, unable to tear his gaze off James' inviting body, and places himself in between his gorgeous thighs once again.

"Alright." He spits on his own fingers, still wet from James' ministrations and brings it where the man wants them.

"Don't make me wait, it's fine, I need it like this-" James' words are cut off by Francis' index finger pushing in his body in one motion. It's rougher than usual, with no oil or grease to ease the friction, but his finger still finds its way into James' yelding body quite easily.

" _Yes_ , Francis." James clings to his neck, bringing him close so that his finger slides deeper into him, stealing a soft whimper from his lips, "Two, I can take them, go on, give them to me."

" _Jesus Christ,_ you," he does what James asks of him, while scrambling for the right words, "You never cease to surprise me." He has to kiss James, swallowing down his broken moans as two fingers make their way into him. He wishes he could get him even closer, so that he could keep him inside of himself, safe and sound, hidden away from this horrible reality.

"More." James sighs on his lips, "More, Francis. Give it to me."

And giving it to him he does, because he's hopeless like that, he will always give James anything he might ask for.

Three fingers in James’ warm body now, his face twisted in pleasure, his hands leaving Francis to reach for both their cocks, and Francis almost finishes the instant he feels James’ fingers wrapping around his aching length. He's a bit ashamed of the needy sound that leaves his throat, but James only seems to find it irresistible, judging by the way his eyes burn. "You're so hard." He whispers, almost reverently, "in my hand. Delicious." He confirms this by bringing his fingers up to his mouth, licking them clean from Francis' seed. The image is so arousing that he has to close his eyes for a moment, focusing on pushing his fingers deeper in James' body, making him buck up into his own hand, wrapped tightly around his own lovely prick.

James brings his other hand back on Francis as soon as he has it all cleaned up, only to get it dirty again with his fluid, beading at the tip. He smears it around with his thumb, Francis' vision whites out for a moment at the sensation.

It's then that Francis finds that spot inside of James that has him going absolutely feral.

" _Oh god-_ fuck." He always sounds shocked, every single time. It makes Francis feel incredibly powerful. 

James keeps stroking Francis even when he loses his rhythm, while his other hand leaves his own erection in order to grasp at Francis' wrist to keep him there, buried in his ass. " _There_. Again, please, again."

And again it is. Francis ignores his own need to give James everything he asks for: he rubs and rubs at that part of him again and again, making James go deliciously desperate underneath him, his pretty cock twitching with every stroke of Francis' fingers inside of him ("Don't stop, yes, _yes_ , god- it feels good.").

"James." He leans over him, not stopping his ministrations, even if his hand aches and the angle is not the most comfortable, but he _needs_ to feel James close, so he wraps himself around him, ending up riding one of James' thighs, face hidden in James' shoulder, their breaths resonating in the cabin, desperate, hot and low.

"The way you feel inside me," James whispers in his hair at some point, bewildered, "I will never forget this."

Francis kisses him with a force he didn't know he still had in him, after these last years. It feels like he's giving his own life to James through the kiss: he sucks on his tongue, making him writhe on the berth, fingers still buried inside of him, James' cock rubbing on Francis' wrist now and then, leaving smears of seed on his skin.

"Are you close?" He kisses him on the corner of his mouth, messily. 

James barely nods, eyes half-closed, lips against Francis’. “‘m close.”

"Then finish for me, let me see you."

He does: after a couple of minutes James' body seizes up, arching on the bed sheets, heels digging in the blankets, cock spurting untouched on his own stomach. His face is turned to the side, so close to Francis that he can barely make out his features, but he can clearly feel his broken moans and the way James' ring of muscles spasms around his three fingers- it makes him almost catch fire. He finds himself shifting urgently against James’ side, rubbing his aching length against James' strong thigh without even thinking about it. He should feel ashamed and embarrassed, but his mind is too clouded by James’ broken moans and the wetness spread all over his stomach, sparkling in the moonlight. He distantly realises that the rhythmic sounds he hears are his own broken breaths.

"God…" Is what James whispers as soon as he opens his eyes again, looking blissfully dazed. He smiles dreamily, and wraps his arms around Francis, keeping him even closer, a hand on his ass to encourage his thrustings.

"Oh yes, Francis,” James whispers on his lips, “Ride my leg, that’s it- you feel so good." He digs his fingers in Francis’ thigh to help his motions, thrusting his leg against him.

“Christ,” Francis’ face burns with shame, but his hips snap down against James’ leg, his cock leaking steadily. He’s clinging to James as a lifeline, digging one knee on the bed to find some leverage. "James-" 

"I had a feeling you’d love it," James murmurs on his lips, “Using me for your own pleasure.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Take it, my darling,” James gently strokes a hand on the side of his burning face, locking their gazes, “I love giving you this much pleasure.”

It’s too much. Francis spills hard across James’s thigh and hip, squeezing his eyes shut, hiding his face in the pillow next to James to shush his broken cry. It’s so intense that he feels like weeping from relief. 

He’s still grasping at James’ body when he regains his senses. James is tracing gentle caresses on his lower back and hip, with the tip of his fingers. Francis is laying half on top of him, he must be hurting him, but James looks so content that he can’t bring himself to mention it.

“This is what I’m going to remember from this awful expedition,” James whispers, after a while, “The way you feel against me. This is the only good thing.”

It’s the same for Francis, of course, but it’s surreal to think that it could be so for James as well.

“And I, this,” he looks at his leg, still draped across James’ lower body; at his hand, on James’ chest; at their fluids, mingling together on their bellies. They'll have to clean themselves up in a while, but this is a thought for later, Francis decides.

"We should get some rest now.” He mumbles, against James' jaw.

“Yes, my darling.” James turns towards him and places his lips on his closed eyelid, whispering, “Rest.”

Francis falls asleep lulled by the rhythm of James’ familiar breath and the comforting warmth of his body, keeping the cold away, for once.

**Author's Note:**

> \- thank you for reading! Let me know how my first Terror smut was, maybe? *eyes emoji*
> 
> \- [rt](https://twitter.com/downeymore/status/1300388411430375424?s=20) & [reblog](https://caravaggiosbrushes.tumblr.com/post/627962841606012928/found-a-place-to-rest-my-head-never-let-me-go)!


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